Master Moses and the Saudadi

Master Moses adjusted his animal skin garments. He wanted to appear pleasant and unperturbed before the Utetezi Council of Seven. They sat behind a marble table. On the tabletop were three gray and three red feathers. Moses read Cao Tzsu's hesitation, noting the contemplation reflected in the folds of his eyes. He hoped Cao's vote would favor reason over tradition. His heart throbbed against his chest like a drum when Cao reached for the gray feather. For some reason, he paused. An onsetting new thought reflected in Cao’s wrinkled forehead froze his hand and pulled it to the red feather. Master Moses squeezed the grip of his staff. It was better to strangle it than the necks of the four men who just voted against him.

Humbly, he thanked them and turned to walk away.

“Master Moses,” Cao called. His voice bounced from the walls inside the spacious room. Cao rose from his seat. Every movement caused another echo. “I'd like to speak with you, please.”

“Of course.” The butakah master cloaked his frustration with a timid smile. The old man approached with a polite grin and slow steps. Master Moses anticipated an apology he did not want to hear.

“Do you understand my vote?”

“No.” Master Moses pulled back his shoulders.

He stood head and shoulders over the elder. Still, he respected Trustee Cao’s legendary contributions to the order. They walked together, exiting the room through a door opposite the table. “I am sure you have good reasons for your choice.”

“No, I don't.”

Moses turned to him. He was thunderstruck. “Was it not you who said tradition has its purpose but must undergo constant scrutiny?”

“Yes, I said that.” The old man inhaled deeply. “How long has it been, four years? Since you became a butakah master?”

“Three.”

Cao nodded. “Your mentor, Grandmaster Yoshi, is just one year in the grave, and you've taken on his crusade. He, too, wished for a new code. We rejected him four times.”

“I respect the code,” Master Moses admitted, although his disappointment saturated his words. “But the council hasn't seen what's happening. They don't know what djinn are planning in the astral world. And the scroll—”

Cao interrupted. “Without the other complementary scrolls, it is unwise to make assumptions from what you’ve read.” He turned to Moses and held his gaze until Moses was almost uncomfortable. Then he continued. “Yes, I know you've read the scroll. I am impressed. Please remember, there are two others we don’t have.”

They walked to the end of the hallway and slipped into another room. Upon identifying the black floor's markings, Master Moses realized they had entered a meditation chamber. He stood still as Cao found a red candle on a shelf adjacent to the door.

“You are much younger than Master Yoshi but just as strong-willed. Strength and youth are powerful when put together – they are also dangerous.” Cao moved into a circle on the floor, inside a square painted inside a triangle. “Come, show me what is in the astral world which compels you.”

Master Moses walked to Cao as he sat. “I've not prepared to cross over yet. I need to bathe properly and—”

Cao interrupted him again. “Bathing is part of the ritual. It symbolizes the cleansing of the soul and your intentions. If your intentions are good and the soul is already pure, there is another way.”

The butakah master was humbled by the trustee’s knowledge. He sat. Between them was a dome-topped sconce adorned with glyphs, set with a metal tuning fork. Moses had read about this tool, but having never seen one, it astonished him. He doubted how effectively it would transfer his spiritual projections into the astral world.

“Do you know what this is?” Cao asked.

“Yes.” Master Moses swallowed. “When the rod vibrates, it distorts the light from the candle. If my focus is strong, the vibration of sound and light opens a portal.”

Cao nodded. “When that happens, you must pour your consciousness into it – all at once. The window is open only as long as the sound lasts. If your intent is pure, you will cross. Are you ready?”

Moses folded his legs and narrowed his vision on the rod.

“We’ve often counseled against exploring too deeply into the djinn’s astral world. The code exists for a reason.  For your protection.” Cao paused for a long while. Moses noted the old man’s contemplation. He seemed indifferent. “From your report, you’ve not taken that advice to heart. Still, I want to see what you’ve put in your report.”

He took a deep breath and released it slowly. He closed his eyes for a moment. Moses thought the old man was about to meditate. When he opened his eyes, he spoke in a low voice. “Take me to this djinni who you want to help.” Using a second rod, Cao struck, and the vibration captured the firelight. The sound vibrated in Moses’ ears. The candlelight distorted and split into a rainbow of colors dancing before the young butakah’s eyes. He poured his thoughts into the colors. For him, nothing existed save the colors. When he could see them no longer, he had crossed over into the astral world.

*****

An orange sky gave way to dark shadows. He moved forward onto a gravel path. Ahead of him were two buildings, one shaped like a tenth-century home, the other a modern-day coffee shop. Moses thought he was alone until Cao grunted behind him. As he approached, Cao wore a chest plate marked with an ancient Chinese symbol and armored boots clanking. Moses almost said Cao’s name, but the trustee, not so elderly in the astral plane, stopped him.

“Here, you must call me Kong.” He stepped forward and peered into the valley ahead of them. “If an astral being learns your material world name, it could gain access to a path leading to your mind.”

Although he was a novice to inter-universe travel, the fundamentals were simple. Still, he had not named his projection.

            Kong assigned him one. “You will be Pkatch to me.”

Pkatch nodded and, without a word, led Kong toward the coffee shop. It had a glass door but no handle. When Pkatch reached for it with an opened palm, it faded into shadow. Stepping into the shadow, Pkatch became aware of the energy drain commonly experienced when passing through a portal. On the other side of the door was a road that resembled an eighteenth-century brick-paved path. Pkatch turned to Kong and pointed.

“There, growing in that field, are thousands of stalks with bright bulbs. Can you hear the buzzing? Mogyain larva. They grow in the bulbs, and when they are ripe, they explode into flight. Wait, I warn you not to get close.”

Kong stepped closer to the field.

The buzzing grew louder, and when Kong was an arm's reach of one, the buzz erupted into a wail. Kong stepped away, staggering. “They defend themselves well,” Pkatch explained.

Kong backed away. “What happens when they take flight?”

Pkatch turned and pointed in the opposite direction. The brick-paved path divided two lines of human souls. Both lines stretched for what seemed like miles. “When the larvae propel from the bulbs, they attach to the souls there and, like parasites, grow on them.”

Moses led the way. They found no parasites on the first dozen souls but soon spied a dark-haired woman. She looked upon them with soft, melancholic eyes that seemed to cry out. Glum abandonment and woeful lamentations radiated from her stare. The barely noticeable tail of a larva waved from her nostril. Pkatch observed an older man perturbed by his parasites. He reached to pull a pale, segmented maggot from his ear. Annoyed that its slimy body slipped through his finger, the soul grunted. He tried again, but the larva escaped into his ear. A second parasite dangled from his collarbone, and a third slithered from underneath his armpit to bite into his nape.

Music from a violin rose to their ears. Pkatch glanced in the distance to see a ghostly spirit floating toward them. “We must go!” He ran, not turning to see if Kong followed until he reached the field. Kong was close behind. “This way.” Pkatch was desperate. They slipped between two boulders onto a narrow path. Once beyond the boulders, the trail widened and curved into an incline.

“That was a saudadi,” Pkatch explained. “There are twelve - born from the smoke of Purah and Beleth, two depressing djinn who we should avoid. That’s not to say the saudadi are any different.” The path twisted around the side of a mountain before becoming steep.

“I'm sure you want an explanation,” Pkatch said. One-third of the way up the mountain, they reached a cliff. “Irmana can answer your questions better than me.”

Kong's face was set. Pkatch, impressed by the indifference in Kong's eyes, stepped onto the cliff. When he did, a light and sultry voice called, “My friend, are you there?” Still, Kong maintained his indifferent demeanor.

Pkatch squatted to take a handful of dust and threw it over the cliff. Instead of falling on the surface beneath them, it settled on a transparent cage hovering off the cliff's side. With more dust sprinkled onto its topmost surface, the pen was in full view – its prisoner inside.

“You returned.” She smirked. Hunter-green, scaly lips were pulled into a satisfied smile that revealed tiny ivory teeth. Like a candle flame of tangerine fire, her eyes shifted to Kong, who cautiously approached. “You brought help. Does he have the key?”

“No,” Pkatch admitted. “I have not found the djinni you asked me to find. I apologize. My Utetezi order has rules that I must follow.”

“Have you betrayed me?” the djinni asked as her reptilian hands reached for the bars that entrapped her. “You promised to help.” She grabbed the bars and violently shook them. “I cannot stay here. I don't know how long I can resist the saudadi sorrows.”

“I haven't betrayed you.” Pkatch tried to reassure the djinni, but she turned her ram-horned head. “I haven't given up. I need you to speak to Kong. He can help us.”

Irmana stood. She attempted to open her wings, but the cage would not allow it. She peered out at Kong, who now stood beside Pkatch.

“I will answer three questions. If you free me, I will endow you with knowledge beyond the capacity of your mortal mind.”

Kong did not answer right away. He stepped closer and inspected the djinni, from her curved horns to the talons scraping the cage floor. When he seemed to have seen enough, he asked, “Why are you condemned?”

Irmana reached out beyond the bars of the cage. A ball of pale light materialized into an archer's bow. Flashes of white and golden energy swept from one end to the next. Where the bowstring should have been were sparks of electric current darting from one tip to the next. “I was just a moment in the third heaven when I acquired this bow to the anguish of Corat, the insensible Ophranim. The Ophranim condemned me to this cage and this cursed saudadis.”

Pkatch spoke more to Kong than to Irmana. “This mountain lies in the material and astral overlap.” He wanted to say more but assumed that Kong already knew of human authority to release things that angels bound in material realms. He also supposed there was no need to remind Kong that words and spells alone could not debunk an Ophranim's containment spell. Quietly, he listened to Kong’s interrogation.

“If we free you from the angel's prison, we may inherit its wrath.”

Irmana withdrew her hand, and the bow vanished. She backed away from the bars.

“If you took the bow, you may have also taken the air of the third heaven,” Kong continued. “What compelled you to take what was not yours?”

“What was not mine?” The djinni returned to the bars.

An orange glow emitted from her eyes. “Are we not made of the same energy? Are we not recycled from the same scattered particles? One cannot own the energy that moves between the worlds. My crime is that I patronize a balanced scale. You fear an angel's wrath. You walk what you deem a righteous path that favors the angels, but will they spare you when you stray from that path?” She chuckled. “You are a foolish breed. The angels know one path, and you inherit their wrath if you stray. They are guiltless, emotionless beings. Where there is no guilt, there can be no mercy. As such, the reality of a static existence is, without balance, inevitable. My obligation to the equilibrium compelled me.”

Smoke rose from the djinni's talons, filling the cage. For a moment, only her eyes were visible. Eventually, the fog departed. Her anger was subdued; her gentle demeanor returned.

“There is a key. You need the key to release me.” She spoke to Pkatch now. “When you find Krifla, he will confirm my suspicions that you have the key.”

“What suspicions?” Kong asked. Then to Moses. “Who is Krifla?”

Pkatch wasn't sure that Kong meant to ask his last question. He spoke too suddenly. “Krifla is of aurai race of djinn – like Irmana.” Moses answered the question that Irmana would not. “One of every hundred aurai are male.”

Irmana interrupted. “A mortal who holds the key, not only may you use it to release me, but it may also be a cipher to the fire language. If you decipher the code, you may call the wardens of Celestial Halls to your command. The time for their help will soon come. More importantly, that key and those words will open this prison. My suspicion is that your father had the key.”

The mention of Moses' father evoked an emotional reaction that Pkatch fought to conceal. He knew the ramifications of sudden emotional surges, but the wave came without warning. The energy from his physical body pulled at his spiritual power. Pkatch stumbled backwards. His understanding of his simultaneous existence in the astral and material world faltered, his mental and physical struggle disorienting him. He noticed how his earthly body could panic or slip into a fit. His astral body weakened as the physical mind pulled at his consciousness.

Kong called out to him. “Focus.”

Focusing was easier said than done. Moses’ mind from the material world recalled moments stored in Moses' memory. It reflected on the tragedy of his father's death. Moses faintly heard his father reciting biblical verses and a group of numbers ahead of death's cold hands. Pkatch dropped to a knee.

“You must fight, Pkatch!” Kong yelled.

The commotion on the cliff did not go unnoticed by the saudadis. The mountain surface warmed, and streams of smoke rose from it. The white smoke encircled Pkatch like miniature tornados. They took shapes of ghostly beings dressed in silky white gowns. Three, each with drooping eyes circled. They projected dull vibrations, draining, numbing, and paralyzing.

Pkatch gagged and looked for Kong. He was gone.

In the place where Kong had stood was a sphere that trembled in midair. As it shook, it flickered with colors identical to those in the flames in the material world.

One djinni floated above him. “What a pity.” She spoke in a sad, mournful voice. “Your father, did they kill him?”

“Did they cut him?” another saudadi asked. “Did they dig the dagger into him?”

Irmana yelled from the cage. “Do not listen, son of Adamu! Do not listen.”

Pkatch, on hands and knees, made for the sphere.

“How terrible were you, little Moses?” said the first. “You did nothing. You let them kill your father.”

Hearing the spirit call him by his material name weakened him further. His arms gave way, and he fell flat on the hot mountain surface.

“Son of Adamu, you must use your power,” Irmana continued. “Your power. Your desire is what they want. You must use it to save yourself.”

Hearing those words, Pkatch understood the spirits' primary purpose. He would not allow them to take away his willpower. He refused to exist like the thousand souls on either side of the bricked road. They had stymied souls, drained of willpower by the larvae. He understood that those souls marched to empty their desires into a stockpile of recycled human energy.

With the sphere as his focal point and the desire to escape, the butakah sprung to his feet. His first step faltered. The second was firm and gave him a great push. One more step, and then he leaped forward, his body parallel to the mountain surface. With an outstretched hand, he reached the glowing sphere.

*****

When Moses’ consciousness returned to his material body, his head pounded. A high-pitched sound, like a siren, rang from the candle flame. His body collapsed, and he lay on his back. Cao still held the rod, but the flame from the candle doubled in size. It took the shape of a hand reaching for him. It grabbed thin air, and then the fire was extinguished.

The sound dissipated, but the djinni’s voice lingered in his mind. Her words bore the sorrows of a thousand years. She raised within him the cries of a mother holding the remains of her child. Moses envisioned the mother stumbling through post-war debris. He remembered that mother from the Derg’s merciless military attack on a poor village some years ago. The explosion had taken her arm. She was delirious when he found her holding the deceased child.

“Were you as sad as this mother when you let them kill your father?”

Moses rose to his feet. Reaching for his pounding head, he staggered. A new image invaded his thoughts. He saw a child embracing the legs of his father's corpse swinging from a tree branch. Moses realized the image was his dad's memory. He, too, witnessed his father's murder.

Cao moved to light the candle. Then he lit another. “Fight it!” he called again.

Moses yelled some words in the ancient Hebrew, and suddenly, the wall was coming at him. He realized something had thrown him into the wall when he hit it. His back hit the floor. When his vision cleared, he realized he had brought the saudadi through the portal. Her body was enormous, and her vengeful gaze looked between him and Cao.

With the spirit pursuing Cao, Moses had time to stand. He could not hear what the djinni said to Cao. Her words silently penetrating his mind burdened him. When Moses reached his staff, he saw that Cao was doubled over. He cried aloud, “No, no, please.” He shook his head.

The spirit was pitiless.

Standing tall with his staff, he knew Cao would soon fall into a stupor. Moses suspected the burdens of a thousand past regrets and future fears would soon crush Cao’s mind as it nearly did to him. Holding true to the code would sacrifice Cao’s life. He had no time to ponder the consequences. Assuming his mentor would have done the same thing, Moses moved to the room's entrance. Using the iron tip of his staff and whispering a spell, he carved in the wood a glyph made from the Hebrew letters Gimel and Dallet.

Somehow, the saudadi was aware of what Moses had done. She turned to face him.

“You will not have our wills,” Moses promised. Her mouth gaped when dark smoke poured from the glyph. The saudadi lifted her skeletal hands in submission. The smoke brightened, and six figures took shape. Their stubby limbs and muscular build testified to the butakah's esoteric mastery. He called from the depths a team of anatel warriors to his aid. Their weapons, battle axes, and swords waved as they encircled the saudadi. Her white aura disappeared in the black, and the dark smoke returned into the opened gateway.

As suddenly as they had entered, they departed. Moses rushed to the door to sketch another symbol on it. The spirits were gone, and the gateway closed. They left nothing behind other than the stomach-turning smell of sulfur and lime.

When Moses turned to Cao, the aged man was rising to his feet and quivering. Moses walked to him. “You should rest for a while.” He took Cao by the arm and helped him to sit, leaning against the wall.

“Are you alright?” Cao's eyes were apologetic.

“A little beat up,” Moses admitted. With the excitement over, his knees pained him, and the burn shooting up his back was agonizing. “I broke the code. I apologize.”

“You had good reason,” Cao mumbled. “Traditions must stay under scrutiny, right?”

Moses did not answer.

“I will reconvene with the council. We have much to speak on.” He coughed. “Somewhere, people are reading the other scrolls. I am certain of this.” He inhaled deeply and released slowly. “Why else will anyone need to command the wardens of Celestial Halls unless the boy giant is resurrected?”

“The boy giant? Do you mean the last Nephilim?” Moses spoke the sacred words. He moved closer to Cao to hear his mumbling.

“You must stay here. We have treatises. You must read them.”

Moses lowered his head. It was an honor to read the treatises written by the wisest of their order, but other more immediate things compelled him.

“Our enemies are out there somewhere, looking for the scroll we have. If they ever get it, they will certainly resurrect the Nephilim. The butakah must keep the scroll safe.”

“We will. The scroll will never leave my island as long as I am alive.” Moses touched Cao’s shoulder to reassure him. “The Nephilim will never walk this earth again.”

“We must take our oaths more seriously now. The spirits are reaching out to us. I don’t believe Irmana shares your optimism. She understands the fate of her race is connected to ours. She wants that weapon for reasons not yet disclosed. You must find out why.” He coughed again, his voice lowering as if he would soon fall asleep. “You were right. If we don't forge some alliance, humanity may suffer.”

Relieved that Cao understood him, Moses realized his mission at the Utetezi council had been a success. He needed to take on another mission. “I would stay to read the writings of the mystics, but I must return to the place of my youth. The place where my father was murdered.”

“I understand.” Cao nodded. “If a man cannot reconcile his past, his future remains uncertain.” He reached out and took Moses’ hand. His voice was stronger when he spoke. “When you release the djinni, return here. Future butakah masters must know many things our council has hidden. That knowledge will begin with you.”